


Child Wish

by BrokePerception



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokePerception/pseuds/BrokePerception
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva McGonagall always appeared so tough. The thought of her burning wish long buried leaves her sometimes broken, though. HG/MM</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

BETA READ by _Kreacher's Peepers_

* * *

Chapter 1

"Minerva Gaia McGonagall!"

The headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry did not halt at the sound of her name, spoken by her lover of close to two years. Instead, she just continued ahead, down the last few stairs without a word or any indication she had heard her, needing to leave there… needing air. They hadn't had an argument really. Minerva McGonagall didn't run from any discussion or any topic. The witch had a seemingly natural ability to circumnavigate certain themes and to lead conversation away from them without necessarily being unkind. Of course, she could be unkind when the person who asked had no business whatsoever in it. Minerva's tone remained gentle when it was in fact someone she cared about, though no less strict or determined. Minerva McGonagall was not a coward after all.

That was one of the many reasons why Hermione Jean Granger had fallen for her – and madly so indeed. Their relationship seemed intricate to the eye of the beholder, and in some senses, it was… but not like others might believe. Minerva was older and was Hermione's former professor, but they were often on the same level when it really came down to it. They just understood each other. Minerva and Hermione certainly didn't show a lot of affection for each other in public, but that was who they were – especially Minerva. If you could see through that first albeit rather thick layer, you saw the love between them was overwhelming. It shone deep within teal green eyes as they connected with mocha and reflected right back in a way a lone star might shine at night in a sky of blackness. Little gestures and the way they reassuringly smiled at each other for a second or even less, were always there when you cared to look instead of just seeing. They both liked it that way, knew the affection was there in abundance and became bolder once they were alone – and rather regularly, too.

They had not spent a night apart since first having got together. Of course, it did happen that Minerva sometimes returned to her quarters late, usually after a meeting with the extended Board of Governors – what with so many changes in staff and other matters since the Battle on May 2, 1998. Then again, it also happened in return that Hermione got home late from the Ministry, too – what with her being a perfectionist, and refusing to go home before all work had been done which she had scheduled to do, including what might have come in during day. She knew once home, little work would get done with a Minerva McGonagall distracting her. She didn't do it on purpose, and she meant a lot more than a simple distraction… but still, was one nonetheless. No matter how busy their schedules or how late it got, both women always returned home at night. They always returned to each other, holding one another close at night just like every other one.

Indeed, Minerva McGonagall was a distraction for Hermione. She was much older and her hair had begun to grey. She showed other signs of age, too. None of that mattered to Hermione, though. She could see the woman beneath, and that woman had just… caught her attention easily. The few who were allowed to get to know Minerva on a more personal level, would agree she had a certain air of mystery about her at all times, mixed with beauty carried over many years.

Minerva was what some called 'a woman of austere beauty'. She was a kind woman underneath her always strict exterior, who would die for those she loved if needed, too. There were very few who ever got to see that one side, but… once you did know, you couldn't help _not_ like her; Hermione couldn't help not _love_ her even.

"Minerva!"

As the elder woman reached over to the doorknob and touched the cold copper with the intention of leaving the room – she hadn't said a word of even whereto – Hermione's wand waved through the air, locking it at once with a wordless spell that was trickier than one easily countered by _Alohomora_. She fully expected the other woman to turn back at her then, her teal green eyes ablaze, nostrils flared… but it didn't happen. Instead, Minerva remained right where she was, back turned to her and unmoving.

Hermione grew worried at this, a crease forming on her forehead. She slowly continued the rest of the steps down until she, too, stepped into the living room of the headmistress' personal quarters, tightening her dressing gown, which Hermione had managed to snatch from the peg at the door, not knowing where she would have to follow her lover to.

They had had a discussion of sorts. What couple never had those after all? This had never happened before, though; never had Minerva left the room just like that, without as much as a word. Confusion showed, as she stepped over to where Minerva stood. The two had been lying in bed, lost in the afterglow beside one another, the sides of their bodies slightly touching, when Hermione had asked if she had ever thought about children. Minerva hadn't answered until Hermione had gently repeated herself, which she had not thought immediately strange. The tone in which she finally answered had piqued her slightly, though. It had seemed unusually devoid of emotion, as she only replied, "I have."

Minerva had not even slightly turned her head on the pillow to eye her as she asked Hermione's opinion on the matter – which she usually did when Hermione posed that kind of question, and that _really_ had piqued the younger witch. She had slowly leant up on her elbows to look at her partner and frowned, asking if she was okay, and whether she had said something wrong. She laid back down again as Minerva shook her head in denial, followed by a hollow voice saying she was fine. Hermione had learned not to argue with Minerva on that, whether the 'fine' was doubtful at times or not. She had unconsciously sought Minerva's hand and held on, her eyes upon the ceiling when she had continued that she had always really wanted children of her own, but hadn't thought much more on it until lately – most likely because there had never been someone she wanted to have a child with, let alone more than one. She had, however, given it a rather great deal of thought since meeting Minerva.

Minerva had been quite quiet for some time then, but Hermione only got concerned when the hand within hers wriggled free, followed by her feeling the mattress buoying beside her. The younger woman had raised herself on her elbows once more, her forehead scrunching in deep confusion and her lips whispering Minerva's name softly. She watched as the elder woman got dressed in absolute silence. Within seconds, it seemed, before she even had the chance to ask why or say anything more on it – maybe she had lain there gazing just a tad longer than she thought – Minerva had finished and left the room they shared. Hermione thought she had heard a sound much like a sob [echo?] through the silence of the room before the door shut behind her.

Hermione did not speak as she came to Minerva's side, moving her hand to a shoulder that was lightly shaking. She couldn't see it, only feel it. With little force used, she turned her lover to face her and saw no anger, only tears in the elder witch's eyes, shimmering within teal green and threatening to fall. Without asking or saying anything more, she guided the elder witch into her arms and just held her for now.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hermione had only ever seen the elder witch cry once, which was right after the Battle at Hogwarts. Then again, few who had been involved hadn't sat there in the wide vicinity of the Great Hall _without_ tears streaking down their cheeks, depressed or shocked, maybe a combination of all three. So many familiar faces had been lying there unmoving and un-breathing in that same room as them… and Minerva McGonagall certainly wasn't heartless either. Most of those who had fallen had once upon a time been pupils of hers, had once upon a time been innocent… and she had had to kill some of them personally, to keep herself, her current pupils or others safe, from those who had once turned on the path to Hell. War had a peculiar way of dividing between good and bad. All of that surely had to be very conflicting for her and tough enough, given her past with most of them. She was an incredibly tough woman, but there's a limit to what a person can take.

As Minerva had sat all alone at one of the tables a tad further away from everyone else, Hermione Granger was the one that had actually dared to come to the elder witch's side, carrying two mugs of hot chamomile tea. It had dawned a rather cold May morning when the fight had finally ended, although most cold had resided in the broken hearts of the survivors of the Battle of course. McGonagall herself had made the last sweep of the grounds, making sure the bodies of all who had fallen had been carried to the Great Hall for now – those of Death Eaters included, setting aside a part of the Hall away from the others. After all, they might have been each other's killers; some had been under the Imperius curse, others were threatened into joining the war. No one deserved to have their body lying in the mud that way… or wherever else someone of the other side had taken their life. Minerva McGonagall had been the one who had recovered Snape from the Shrieking Shack, his position made known to her by Hermione Granger.

She had been the one who had stood and restored the ruined ceiling when the clouds overhead – visible through the holes for real rather than from the enchantment – had turned dark grey, announcing an impending storm. Minerva had lived in the Scottish Highlands long enough to know what the weather held. She had just dismissed everyone who had come to help her as they saw her, whispering incantations faster than anyone thought a person could even speak, telling them to go back to their families and that she could do it alone, that she was fine. She hadn't had a family anymore… When finished, she had sat back down at that table yet further away from everyone else. Poppy Pomfrey had been with her fleetingly, asking about possible injuries, but Minerva had dismissed the nurse, too, saying that there were other survivors needing her aid more.

Hermione, however, would not be sent away so easily. She had come to the elder witch's side with that mug of tea and sat down beside her with a certain air, conveying she would not be simply dismissed if at all. Carefully, she had handed the mug to Minerva, warning her it might be too hot still. Both women had just sat there in quietude, first dangling spoons in their tea, then sipping from it once it was cool enough without burning their tongues. Hermione hadn't asked whether Minerva was all right, hadn't asked if she was hurting somewhere or if she could do anything for her… and that had made all the difference really. Minerva had not dismissed her. They knew that moment was a slow beginning of what they now had.

Hermione thought of that moment; still sitting beside the woman after so many years, only this time on the lovely couch in the headmistress' personal living space. They each sipped from their mug of tea – mint, this time. After a couple of minutes hugging one another tightly, Hermione had pulled away a little and asked Minerva if she wanted to sit maybe. She had only nodded, tears still shining obviously in her eyes. She had guided the elder Gryffindor to the long couch and sat down beside her then. Charming a small tray with tea and mugs was the first thing Hermione had thought of – she knew Minerva would not appreciate a House-Elf seeing her like this. Hermione was quite sure that was the reason why she had left the room earlier – and that had only been in front of her! True, the tea did taste slightly different when charmed like that, but it wasn't undrinkable either.

She finally moved her gaze to Minerva again, watching the elder witch closely. She herself had carelessly tucked a leg underneath herself, the foot of the other dangling just inches above the wooden floor. She hugged her mug with both hands, resting the rim against her lips and sitting rather comfortably. Minerva, however, sat rigidly, back straight and legs crossed. Her position didn't look casual or comfortable at all. Her mug stood half full upon the table, left there after her first sip, her hands folded in her lap. Hermione couldn't say what she was looking at, but her face seemed a mix of her typical professorial sternness and thoughtfulness.

She leaned over and quietly set her mug down on the table beside Minerva's, turning to the elder witch. "Minerva, can I ask you something?"

She could see the other woman's surprise at being spoken to. When she looked at Hermione, it seemed as though nothing had happened. She seemed calm again, although maybe a bit passive. She nodded her head at her younger lover and leaned back against the couch, more comfortably. Her actions still seemed rather stilted, however, as if she was trying to convince herself as much as Hermione. "Of course," Minerva said, though if you listened well, you could hear the slight edge of something close to fear.

"Why did you run earlier?"

Minerva's mouth opened at once to reply, but she found she didn't know how to answer really, so she closed it again, as well as her eyes, and sighed heavily. She shook her head slowly for a few moments before her eyes opened again and she looked straight at Hermione. She should have known this question would be coming sometime. The tears that had already threatened to spill earlier were now gone as if nothing had happened. "I didn't… run," she said.

"Then why did you leave the room?" Hermione tried again.

She waved her hand at the question posed and shook her head once more. "It doesn't really matter," she said. "It was just something… silly."

"Minerva…" Hermione spoke in a whisper, leaning slightly more towards her and letting her hand fall upon Minerva's, squeezing it gently. It was the first time Hermione thought that she felt Minerva flinch under her touch and it really worried her. Thoughts of adultery or other secrets didn't cross her mind as would have been the case had it been someone else but her. Minerva just wasn't like that, she knew. She had no fear at all of Minerva McGonagall being unfaithful to her. "I doubt whether it was something silly. You don't do silly; you know better than to get upset over something little – which indirectly says it isn't something little at all… and that worries me. I love you very much, you know that, right?"

A very minimalistic smile crossed older features. She nodded. "I know that, yes. I love you, too… though it is still nice to hear. I don't have many who tell me so."

Hermione didn't believe the last part was laced with much sadness necessarily – it was more a truth that was stated, unaccompanied by any immediate emotion. The fact remained a sad one, though. She squeezed the hand underneath hers once more. "I do love you," Hermione said. "I don't want you to ever forget that, like I don't want you to forget that no matter what, you can tell me anything. I would never judge you for whatever it is. You don't have to tell me things if you don't want to, but I tend to get worried when you don't… I know we are both busy and don't have as much time for each other as we really want – because then we would most likely be together every second of every day – but I'm always here for you, all right?"

"I appreciate that more than you will ever know," Minerva whispered, turning her hand underneath the younger one and holding onto it tightly. She reached up and lightly pinched the bridge of her nose with her other fingers, sighing. "It is rather intricate," she began. "There is a reason why I reacted the way I did, and I'm afraid that there's quite a lot to it."

"I've got time."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Hermione quietly watched her lover, waiting until she spoke. It looked as if she was gathering her strength and so gathering the words to speak. This, along with her leaving the bedroom earlier, alerted Hermione that it was an important matter – something that sat very deep with Minerva. She squeezed the hand that was still in hers tightly, which seemed to give Minerva the final strength needed to speak up.

"I… I've always wanted children of my own, ever since I was a little girl," Minerva finally said in a small voice, one which sounded strange even to her own ears – she wasn't generally this open with anyone; partner included. "I believe I knew from when I was about fourteen that I wasn't quite like the other girls. I never ogled, but I liked to look at other girls more than boys and in different ways to how my dorm mates did. I believe I knew from age sixteen, after reading some particular books from the library in secret, that I was gay." She looked at Hermione, seemingly as if to check she was still there and listening. Her voice was softer than usual but clear and strangely unwavering. Her eyes spoke of a confidence, yet at the same time an edge of insecurity seemed to lie deep within her.

Hermione noticed this, but couldn't quite put her observations into words. She nodded as Minerva eyed her to reassure herself she was still there and listening. "You've told me, yes," Hermione carefully said. She didn't want to sound like she was bothered at having heard this already, or less interested in any way in what Minerva was saying. "I was a bit older as you know."

"Yes," Minerva merely said. "As you know as well, before you, I hadn't been in a relationship for a very long time, because I mainly focused on teaching and other duties at Hogwarts after I left the Ministry as an Auror… especially when I left the cottage in Hogsmeade and moved my home here permanently. I have had a handful of pupils gaping at me over the years, and some male colleagues certainly have been interested. I, however, was never interested in them in return. When I arrived here, the Hogwarts staff was mostly male, and no one except for Albus knew of my preference for my own gender. We had always been great companions – until you, he was in some ways my significant other. We could confide in one another and just knew each other incredibly well. We knew that we could always come knocking, knew not too push when the other didn't speak and to listen if otherwise."

Hermione nodded. Minerva not being in a romantic relationship for some decades had served as one of the elder witch's main worries. She had worried she had become mute in the language of love in not so many words, and that Hermione was wasting her time on her. Hermione had countered that love was something you didn't really learn or 'unlearn', and Minerva had had to agree. Sappho of Lesvos might have thought of it differently, but love couldn't be taught to another.

"I only had two serious relationships before you – one of five and a half years and one of nearly four. I was a lot younger then and so focused on my work for the Ministry that a family was far from my mind. I never dwelled on it until I took my residence here, and the number of cards from ex-pupils only increased, announcing the birth of their son or daughter. I then began to wonder and to my own shock, realized that my time had passed. I was in my early forties and perpetually single. I resigned myself to the fact that I would never bear a child myself, even if I found a person to have them with after all – and I didn't even have much hope for that until I found you."

Hermione watched as the tears that had threatened to fall earlier returned to her teal green eyes, shimmering in them and undoubtedly blurring her vision. Her own eyes stung, hearing the pain in Minerva's voice. Three decades had already passed. Of course, there hadn't been much heard about single mothers back then, and certainly not the breakthroughs in artificial insemination. All that was now widespread, though. It was really sad that Minerva was resigned to never having children, while still living to see it become possible for women the age she had been then. She couldn't even imagine the pain Minerva must have felt, and she couldn't blame her for having left the conversation anymore. If it had been her, she would have been close to devastated.

She stood, never letting go of the hand within hers, and knelt down in front of the elder woman. "Oh, Minerva," she whispered. It broke her heart to see the woman try to hold back the tears. She wondered how often she had cried to sleep over this, if of course she allowed herself such self-pity.

"You would imagine or at least hope it eases, gets bearable… but you don't learn to deal with it, live with it. At least I never did. How many times have we been together without worrying about precautions, without either you or me finding ourselves expecting?"

"I doubt many would," Hermione offered, both hands on the elder witch's knees, gently rubbing them in a reassuring way. She doubted it helped, but it at least made her feel less useless. "I understand why you left the conversation earlier, and I'm sorry for yelling at you. I didn't… know," she apologized.

"I should have told you."

Hermione's head shook. "No. I don't ever want you to feel like you _have to_ tell me anything. I know the subject must have been very hard and undoubtedly too painful."

Minerva slowly nodded, agreeing. Her hands moved to hold hard onto Hermione's, and her head leaned forward until it touched upon Hermione's gently. Within seconds, tears began to trickle down from her eyes, coursing down her cheeks in silence, and Hermione bit her bottom lip, trying not to cry along with her. It wouldn't do for her to break down now, too. The younger witch let her mocha eyes fall shut, unable to watch any longer, as one hand moved over Minerva's thigh to her hip and began stroking her right side – she couldn't quite reach further from there.

It might have been the feeling like it was acceptable to cry in front of Hermione that had caused this. As Minerva's body was wracked with sobs and her tears increased, Hermione gently nudged Minerva's knees apart, moving in between them to get as close to Minerva as possible in that awkward position and wrapping both arms about the elder witch's waist as she felt Minerva's move around her shoulders.

Some of her own tears dripped onto Minerva's robes as she felt the elder witch shake; a pain which she had no doubt Minerva only let escape rarely if at all, had now taken over. She wondered if she had ever shared the depth of the pain that not having children in her life had caused. They held each other for several long minutes until Minerva's body eventually stopped shaking. "Minerva?"

"Mhmm?" Minerva sounded.

"It doesn't really have to be like this," she whispered, pulling back slightly when Minerva still hadn't answered after a few seconds of silence. Mocha eyes slid over a tear streaked face, now reddened by tears. "Maybe you could still be a mother. By that I mean you, yourself, and not only as in [the?] children I would bear, though I would consider them yours just the same."

"Hermione… I– I'm turning seventy-six."

"I know, but witches age a lot slower than Muggle women, don't they?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

By merely looking at the elder woman's face, Hermione could tell if she hadn't known this fact already, that Minerva Gaia McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, didn't like hospitals. She hadn't failed to notice the look in her eyes when the Healers had handed her a shift to change into for the tests that they would be conducting. Those eyes were now looking at the ceiling. She didn't speak and neither did Hermione. There was a unique mutual kind of understanding between them at that moment. Hermione could tell without needing to ask that Minerva was afraid. Of course, she wasn't scared of the tests despite the fact that she hated hospitals. She was more scared of the verdict, Hermione knew. It didn't make her any weaker, because even tough people could sometimes be afraid. She knew it would be all the harder, hearing it from a Healer who would probably confirm what she thought she knew already – that her time to have children had passed. Maybe, just maybe, the news would be positive, though? She would never underestimate Minerva's thoughts or feelings in any way, but they had fucking magic… so who knew?

They held onto one another's hand tightly on the edge of the bed as they waited for a Healer to come get her for the tests. Minerva's eyes had been redirected to the ceiling for a while now, tracing the small cracks in it. Age always left its marks… and she suddenly thought of how age had left its marks on her, upon her heart, soul and body. Wrinkles had tainted infallible milky skin over a lifetime of worrying; a few laughter lines had also been left behind at the edges of her eyes. Gravity had had its revenge, too.

A woman like her should not be hoping to have children anymore. What was Hermione thinking, taking her here and hoping that they might agree to help her have a baby at her old age? With Muggles, once you were over forty, you were not allowed anymore attempts in most fertility clinics due to the risks of the age. While Minerva wouldn't mind to bear any consequences for herself, she very much doubted that the age limit would be raised by an extra thirty-five years in the Wizarding World. She had, of course, read about Muggle women aged seventy still having children, but she always finished the entire article and found mention of the extreme risks, and how doctors strongly advised against it. However, everyone at St. Mungo's and most likely everyone in the British Wizarding World surely knew Minerva McGonagall and more or less her age. If it had been impossible or even doubtful to help her have a child, they would have denied her at once, no?

Her grip on the younger woman's hand intensified. She truly welcomed how Hermione tried to do this for her, how she had called to ask for information and then made her an appointment, and she appreciated that the younger Gryffindor had taken a day off from the Ministry to join her at St. Mungo's. Even more, she loved her very much.

Hermione, unlike her, was still deliciously firm in all the desirable areas, radiating beautiful young adulthood. She was a gorgeous woman, after all. She often loved to just feel her beside her at night and feel that warm body pressed against her. Usually, they spooned, Minerva mostly serving as the outer spoon.

Minerva McGonagall shifted regularly in her sleep, though, switching sides every few minutes before she fell asleep and even more often during the R.E.M. phase. In the deep of night, the tossing and turning would decrease a little but never completely. Somehow, she always managed not to hurt her partner. Hermione had mentioned a few times that when she woke, Minerva was mostly facing her, arm across the younger woman's middle possessively. Truth be told, Hermione liked that possessive edge.

Minerva sighed, knowing without even looking at her lover that the soft sound which eschewed from thin lips had caused Hermione's head to turn. She didn't meet the gaze of the younger woman, though. Wouldn't the Healers consider her foolish for still hoping for a child at her age, while in a relationship with such a young, healthy and incredibly attractive thing like Hermione, who could easily bear children as prolifically as Molly Weasley for them if they wanted?

It wasn't that she feared she wouldn't love them. After all, she loved Hermione Granger very much and was sure she would love her children, too. After all, there were certain spells that even allowed her to technically be the biological second mother as well, so she was sure she would love them as much as if she had carried them herself. Nonetheless, there would always be that nagging feeling, wondering what it would feel like, longing to experience it all herself: a baby growing inside her. She had no doubt that it was a very special and unique thing – which Hermione seemed to find understandable.

Right then, Minerva McGonagall realized more than ever that Hermione was the woman of her life. Finally turning her head on the pillow and looking directly into mocha brown, the elder witch smiled weakly. "I love you." She could feel her hand being squeezed as Hermione smiled faintly in return and nodded.

"I love you more," she whispered. "Whatever happens."

Minerva squeezed the hand in her own, wondering what, by Merlin, she had ever said or done in her life to make this kind and beautiful siren fall for her. She was so many years older, and Hermione could get so much better. She still remembered the reactions of the many young boys her age upon Rita Skeeter's first article on their relationship and then even more so when a month later, Hermione actually confirmed the suspicions in the most minimalistic but unambiguous of words.

With this clear realization, green eyes slid down to their entwined hands, and she gently rubbed the bare ring finger of Hermione's left hand with her thumb. Hermione wanted to be there with her, whatever happened. She had heard the great truth in the words, felt her love even in the stark, white cleanliness of the hospital room. She could feel her love for Hermione swell in her chest, too… and she knew that no matter the results, she would get through it with Hermione there at her side. Her eyes slid to Hermione's face and slightly parted lips, and she made her decision right then, right there. They had never talked about it, but she held no fear in asking her anyway.

"Minerva…" Hermione began, eyes widening. This moment resembled the typical romances on Muggle television she was secretly addicted to.

Minerva's head shook, and she pushed herself upright in the bed with her free hand to look at her better, tugging at their entwined hands to urge her to rise to her feet and sit on the edge of the bed. "I sometimes feel I'm going to burst with love when I look at you and see you smile. I couldn't imagine my life without you in it… You're more than a lover to me or a partner. I wish that you would please consider becoming my wife?"

Hermione just gazed at the elder witch in shock at first. She didn't quite know what to say at that. A part of her momentarily wondered whether she had heard correctly, though somehow she knew that she had. "I… Oh Merlin, you're serious." Then a sob left her throat; tears streamed down her flushed cheeks like an avalanche, no stopping in sight. Of course she would become her wife; there was no need for consideration! She wasn't sure she could speak a word coherently… so she just nodded after several seconds of shock, having been dumbfounded into silence. She nodded her consent vigorously.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Am I hurting you?" Hermione murmured against the elder woman's neck. Their hands were entwined beside Minerva's head, her legs slightly spread to accommodate Hermione and hooked over her hips, holding her lover against her loosely. It had been very early that night when the two witches had moved to the bedroom yet, but it certainly hadn't been to sleep.

Minerva's head shook, turning it and finding the younger woman's lips with her own, pulling her into one hell of a heated kiss that moved from gentle touches to a dance of tongues in seconds and made both moan into each other's open mouths. This was going to be intense to say the least, if the way in which their bodies already hummed in anticipation and downright lust was any indication at all.

As lack of air made them feel lightheaded and forced both witches to break free and pant to regain breath for a few seconds, Hermione gently thrust inside the wet warmth of the other woman, receiving a soft and breathless "Ah!" of delight, which encouraged Hermione to repeat what she had just done. It wasn't the first time they had done this – after all, Hermione and Minerva had learned to use the spell that caused either's clitoris to elongate magically to the size of a penis rather early in their relationship…

That very first time they had used the spell, in the throes of high passion, with Minerva's three fingers buried deep inside, moving to and fro in her wetness, Hermione had cried for more, on which Minerva had reached for her wand to perform the spell, doing her best not to stop or slow the rhythm of her fingers, until she had pulled away and immediately replaced them by her own elongated flesh, a gasp of surprise coming from Hermione's lips.

Hermione stilled as Minerva's green eyes fluttered closed, and she looked down worriedly upon her older lover. "You're sure?" she wondered, watching as Minerva's eyes reopened and seemed to take in Hermione's face carefully. A moment of silence ensued, and Minerva wriggled her hands free. Hermione's brow furrowed as she wondered if maybe she had said or done something wrong. One of Minerva's hands slid down to find a firm ass, pushing at Hermione's with the other so that the woman's full weight fell atop of her before letting it join its mate upon the globes of Hermione's curvy buttocks. She leaned up to kiss Hermione once more.

As they broke free, slightly breathless but not as much as earlier, she spoke, "I'm sure, my love. It isn't like we haven't done this before… I'm not sure I could bear it too rough, but I am not in pain now. In fact, I'm rather enjoying myself." A small smile passed her features as she gently cupped the younger woman's cheek in her hand. "Stop worrying. You would hear if you hurt me."

"Then it would already be too late!" Hermione reasoned, her eyes locking with Minerva's teal green ones worriedly. The last she wanted was to hurt Minerva. She couldn't bear the thought of it.

Minerva tenderly tucked a wisp of unruly light brown hair behind her ear, fingertips barely ghosting over her well-defined jaw line then moving back to her buttocks again. She smiled at the adorable way in which Hermione's eyes fluttered upon the touch, the younger woman desperately struggling to keep her mocha colored eyes open but barely winning the fight. Minerva's nails dug slightly into Hermione's skin, pressing firmly and urging her to get moving within her gently. "We'll take it very slow…" she whispered. "Very slow…"

"Yes…" Hermione replied, finally losing the battle against her own fluttering eyelids as she felt Minerva's hot wet walls pushing and pounding against her sex. Merlin, she loved this woman… the woman who would sooner or later become her wife.

Once Hermione's tears had begun to abate back in the hospital cubicle, Minerva had wiped the visible evidence away with her thumb. They hadn't been able to say more on it, for one of the Healers had come to get them for Minerva's tests then. Hermione had just followed her everywhere in silence, never letting go of her hand. After the extensive testing, they had been sent home with the words that once the results were in, they would have to run through them with a few Healers first before telling them their findings. Minerva had been really exhausted from all the tests, and not all of them had been painless. So she had gone to rest on the bed once they had returned to Hogwarts and had fallen asleep soon after.

They hadn't spoken of their promise anymore, but they both knew it had been a very honest moment, not a worthless thing said in the heat of the moment, based on nerves and maybe fear, like an 'It will be okay' when you don't know what else to say. It had been a beautiful moment despite its context; one they both would cherish until the end of their days.

"Oh… Yes, love… We'll just believe we're making our little one like this, right now… just you and me together," Minerva whispered with the last of her breath, unable to speak anymore then. Hermione somehow always stole the elder woman's breath away in one way or another.

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Please review... I would like to hear your thoughts! Kudos to those who have taken some of their time to review already!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"You look really beautiful," Hermione whispered over the small rectangular table at which they were both seated, her eyes shimmering as she looked at Minerva McGonagall, her fiancée. She had come home a tad earlier than usual, finding Minerva behind her desk in her office, reading through some letters from goodness knew who. As she had seen her sitting there, a thought crossed her mind and she had asked if the elder woman could free herself for the evening. After all, it was a Friday afternoon, with the whole weekend free to catch up on her work if necessary. Minerva had frowned at her and said she could if she wanted. Hermione had smiled, saying she expected the headmistress to be dressed nicely at seven and ready to leave, before disappearing upstairs.

So they were now sitting there opposite each other in a fancy restaurant. "Why, so are you," Minerva replied, a small smile passing across her lips as she slowly set her glass of orange juice down, but it disappeared as she looked at what she was drinking. She had told Hermione she could go ahead and order a glass of wine or Champagne if she wanted, but Hermione had shaken her head and ordered the same.

Hermione bit down on her bottom lip, following her partner's unwavering gaze to the glass. It had been nearly two weeks now. They hadn't spoken of the procedure or children anymore, but the Healers at St. Mungo's had suggested to come back for a test a week or two later. She could see the hidden defeat in Minerva's eyes, though. She still refrained from having any alcohol, but Hermione knew she really had lost all hope. She didn't want to ruin the evening, but she knew that they had to talk about it. "You don't believe it was successful, do you?" Hermione wondered.

Minerva's gaze redirected to her lover. "I know," she whispered. "I would have felt it, I'm sure. I don't feel any different at all. I felt sore after the procedure, but otherwise… just no." She sighed, looking at a couple a bit further away. "I know what you're going to say, that you can never know and that some women even lose blood even if it has been successful, but I don't want to hear it. I know I'm not, not pre-… I'm not. I'm not sensitive. I'm not sick."

"Minerva," Hermione began. "You can't know that. Who knows, you might already be expecting and in a few weeks time, you are vomiting every day from morning to night. I know you don't want to go back there, but what if the news is good? Wouldn't you want to know?"

"I know it isn't good news."

"I'm not certain, Minerva. I still hope it is good news and will hear that you are carrying our child and all will be just fine," she whispered, reaching across the table for the elder woman's hand, trailing the top of her knuckles with her thumb and squeezing tightly.

"I…" Minerva said. "Still, I don't believe I would want to hear it in a hospital. Having a child is very intimate and so personal, something precious. That's a moment I would want to share with my lover only: with you and you alone – not with a herd of Healers and medi-witches there, too. Even if they did give us some privacy of sorts, or if we left and asked for the results of the test later…"

"Minerva, if you were with child, you would need to have it confirmed at St. Mungo's either way. Although, perhaps we could do a test at home – a test Muggles use. They have become very accurate of late, I believe, even saying how far along you are. They're rather expensive, but if you like, I can buy one for us in Muggle London. If it shows positive, we'll go straight to St. Mungo's. If it shows negative, well… we'll deal with that as it comes. I don't doubt your instinct here, my love, but you've never been with child and neither have I, so it is perfectly possible that you are pregnant, and I would just really like the confirmation. Do you see where I'm coming from?"

Minerva sighed, nodding slightly. "I do," she whispered. "I hadn't thought of a test."

Minerva's gaze fell upon the younger witch's look of surprise. She just eyed her as if Minerva had said she knew for sure aliens existed. "You know, we aren't different in all we do, Hermione. Though I will admit I didn't know about those accurate Muggle tests you mentioned."

Hermione nodded. "So you agree to take a test at home?"

Minerva made a small motion somewhere between a shrug of the shoulders and a sigh. "I know you want the confirmation, but I don't know what I'll do if I see a negative result… then again, I don't know what I'd do should it be positive either."

"I'll be there with you, as I always am," Hermione whispered. "We are in this together, remember? I may not wear a ring yet, but I am yours."

Minerva smiled slightly. "I'm sorry for not doing it right. I hadn't even got an engagement ring for you. I still want to get married to you, though. I've known for a while I wanted to be your wife and wanted you to be mine. I just never really thought it through."

"I don't care about the engagement ring, Minerva. I care about being your wife and telling the rest of the world you are mine. I will try hard to give you the happily ever after you want, Minerva. If this doesn't work, I'll bear you your child and more – as many as you want, though I know it wouldn't be the same."

"Hermione, you make me happy already," Minerva whispered. "You made me a very happy woman the day you told me you loved me and the day you accepted my lousy proposal. I fear getting you with child would work as well as getting me to expect, or you would have long been pregnant already."

"Maybe," Hermione whispered. "Or maybe you're expecting right now and all it requires for me is just a little help, too. Maybe just taking notice of my cycle will be enough." She looked at Minerva and saw she was really trying not to burst into laughter. She followed her gaze, and it soon fell upon a couple several tables away, eyeing them with eyes as wide as saucers. Of course, when they left the castle to have dinner they often Apparated to the continent, so they could speak freely without being recognized. Apparently, this couple understood English, despite them being in Nice. What was said and done couldn't really be undone anymore, unless she resorted to Obliviation, so Hermione just reached for her glass and softly laughed into it. "Women getting impregnated by other women… you just gotta love magic." Then she whispered lower, "I reckon they're thinking either you or I am a secret transvestite – not to insult anyone."

For the first time in two weeks, Minerva McGonagall laughed aloud.

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Please review... I would like to hear your thoughts! Kudos to those who have taken some of their time to review already!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

She could feel the other witch tremble. She didn't know any better but to hug her from behind, pulling her slightly taller frame close, resting her cheek against her shoulder and hoping to be some comfort. She gently kissed the exposed shoulder blade, turning her head slightly to look past Minerva at the test in her hand which was shaking terribly, too. Hermione carefully reached over to take it from her, and she wasn't surprised to feel her fiancée immediately turn in her arms. This is how it had all begun. The difference was that Minerva wasn't in tears this time, but Hermione knew that wouldn't be the case if the test was negative, though. _Oh Merlin._

"Shh…" she whispered. Three minutes had never seemed so long, Hermione concluded, as the 'wait' symbol in the shape of an egg timer continued to flash. She closed her eyes for just a moment, sighing deeply. She didn't know what she would do if it was negative, nor if it was positive really. She left a kiss on Minerva's greying ebony hair and turned her gaze to the test again, finding that the symbol had just stopped flashing. She turned the test over with the result down, so that they could look at it together. "Minerva, my love… Three minutes have passed," she said. She felt her older fiancée turn slightly in her arms, mocha brown finding a hazy green. "Are you sure that you don't want to sit down?" Hermione wondered.

Minerva nodded, quite sure. "Please, get it over with," she said, a begging edge to her soft voice, laced with her Scottish lilt more than Hermione had ever heard before. It always became more noticeable when she was passionate about something, though. Hermione had discovered this fact on the rare few instances when the headmistress was indeed emotional.

Hermione inhaled deeply, her left hand still resting on Minerva's hip tightened as she turned over the test. Both witches eyed the result, and at once she could feel the other woman quiver hard. The test dropped in the sink with a slight ting, no longer of importance, as she turned to Minerva worriedly. "Min…?"

"I might have to sit after all…" she whispered, wavering lightly.

A wave of her wand caused an armchair to appear right in the middle of the spacious bathroom, and Hermione lowered her onto it, kneeling by her feet. They both remained quiet, Minerva's quivering increasing, then decreasing, then increasing again in quick succession in the few minutes that followed. Hermione's eyes stayed on her fiancée the entire time. When Minerva finally seemed able to focus again and turned her gaze to Hermione, a stupid smile was upon her lips, her eyes shimmering with tears. Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm going to be a mother…" Minerva stuttered. "We're going to have a little boy or girl together."

"That's right," Hermione whispered, a wide smile upon her lips. "We're going to be mums!"

A soft cry let the other woman's lips as she raised a shaking hand to her mouth then. "This is a miracle… I never would have thought…" Then she just began to cry hard, leaning over to hold onto Hermione, slipping from the armchair onto the cold floor, but she couldn't care less right then.

_Pregnant. 1-2 weeks._

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**~~ Finite Incantatem ~**


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